


After the Storm

by smoakoverwatch



Series: Season 5.5 [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 4+1, Angst, F/M, For reasons, Gen, author tries to be oliver introspective, father-son bonding, speculation for 5.5 and potentially 6x01, spoilers for season five finale, tries being the operative word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakoverwatch/pseuds/smoakoverwatch
Summary: *spoilers for the season five finale*The four months Oliver thought Felicity was dead. And the one month he realized she wasn’t.





	After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Some finale. Personally, I really enjoyed it. I know that 6x01 can easily start with no time jump at all, and Oliver goes straight back to the island, but I wrote this a little differently. Also, I’d like to explore what Oliver’s grief would look like at this time, especially with William around.
> 
> Also thank you to Hessa for letting me ramble about this idea at 4 am her time.

**_i. (May and) June_ **

In the aftermath of the storm, all that matters is getting his son safe. He’ll deal with the rest afterwards.

He’ll get asked later how they made it. He won’t have an answer. All he knows is that he had to take care of his son, and try his hardest to ignore the scent of thick smoke that moved towards them with the wind.

Every instinct yells at him to go back to the island. Go back. Save who he can. But one look at the still-trembling boy in his arms reminds him where his priority has to lie now.

With a heavy heart, he steers them in the opposite direction.

They float in the sea for just one day. Oliver has little to be grateful for, he thanks every force out there that his son won’t have to know starvation in the way he did ten years ago. The Coast Guard finds them – luck, pure luck he’s never had the luxury of before – and takes them to Hong Kong.

(The irony is not lost on Oliver)

Somewhere, in the back of his mind as he sits in a foreign airport and keeps on arm wrapped firmly around his son’s shoulder, he knows it’s taking too long.

Their flight arrangements take hours. There’s an airline strike which makes the airport hell. The phone that he tucked into his suit is dead.  They’re stuck on cold plastic chairs two hours before their flight boards, his hand clenched so hard it starts to ache, but he ignores it. The longer it takes, the more time they’re wasting.

It takes several flight connections and a long list of questions he has to answer to various personnel before they reach Star City.

But it’s good. Running through terminals to catch flights and buying his son shitty airport lunches keeps his mind occupied.

He doesn’t say much, his son. Maybe they’re alike in that manner, maybe it’s all the trauma he was exposed to – that he shouldn’t have been exposed to – catching up to him.

But he’s a good kid. He doesn’t ask for anything. Doesn’t give Oliver a hard time. Doesn’t flinch away from Oliver’s embraces in fear but sinks into them. His eyes are haunted, but he isn’t scared of Oliver. And that itself makes moving forward a little easier.

When they do reach Star City, Oliver is at an impasse.  Because it hits him that he’s a grown man that’s been living in his glorified basement apartment for a year and did nothing about it until now.

All his stuff is there, but he refuses to make his son sleep in the bunker, even just for a night. Somehow, even a hotel just seems out of the question.

Instead, he reaches into the spare key that has sat in his office for so long. His son asks where they’re going (one of the first things he says when they reach Star City) and Oliver can answer with only one word.

“Home.”

* * *

 

When he turns the key through the lock and shoves the door open, his immediate thought is, _this was a terrible idea._

Because upon entering, he’s assaulted with memories of her. The entrance smells faintly of her perfume, which she keeps in the key bowl. There are a few pairs of colorful heels strewn by the entrance that Oliver has to kick aside.

His son pays no mind, walking through the door and tiredly falling onto the couch.

But Oliver can’t stop himself from looking around the space and feeling the bile rise in his throat. It’s finally hitting him, and he can’t do a thing to stop it, not a _damn_ thing. He looks at the wastebasket in the corner of the kitchen – still filled with green paper plates from a party held a lifetime ago – and runs to empty the scarce contents of his stomach in the sink.

His throat burns and his eyes sting as he dries his mouth on a paper towel, humiliated when he hears his son walk over and the sound of the tap running.

He accepts the glass of water offered with his eyes cast down in shame. Oliver should be taking care of him, not the other way around. Every inch of him has wanted to break down for the past week but he fought. He powered through it and the reason is standing right there, patiently looking up at him, squeezing his arm.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says, his voice hoarse. He pushes off the counter. “Um, are you hungry?” he opens the fridge and almost laughs – empty, of course it would be.

He doesn’t get a response right away as he slams the door shut, the sound makes his son flinch. “There’s not really anything here, but I can order something if you’d like.” But the young boy shakes his head again.

He holds himself like a guest around Oliver – being polite, turning down offers to buy him things he wants – and that should probably bother him, but he gets it.

So when he finally says, “actually, I just want to sleep” Oliver is more than happy to show him to the guest room. He doesn’t have any clothes with him, (they should go shopping this weekend. Or tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow) so he sleeps in an airport gift shop t-shirt and his muddied pants from earlier.

But not a single complaint. Oliver doesn’t deserve him.

When he finally settles in for the night, Oliver waits intently as he falls asleep, a tension he didn’t realize had gathered unknotting in his chest when he hears gentle snores.

He walks downstairs and pulls his phone out, finally dialing the number he knows will reach Lyla’s safehouse.

It’s impossible to explain what happened. Up until this point he hasn’t had to.

How do you tell a woman her husband might be gone? How does he admit that he let his brother down? That he came back here to a warm house on the other side of the world, like an absolute coward?

But Lyla Michaels proves repeatedly that she’s John Diggle’s true partner. She takes the information in stride, responds almost clinically, like this is someone else’s family on the line, and promises to send ARGUS agents to search the area immediately.

Somehow, the idea of leaving William out of his sight seems unthinkable after a week of being together. This unfamiliar feeling is what makes Oliver pull a spare pillow on the floor next to his bed.

Sleep has never been particularly easy for Oliver. This time it comes at some point after 3 AM, when his own exhaustion fights the sounds of explosions and his own scream echoing in his mind.

* * *

 

Five tense mornings later, Oliver starts his day like most, mindlessly scraping butter over toast, conscious of the sounds above him that indicate his son is waking up.

He hasn’t heard from Lyla since his first night back in Star City. He’s not above admitting that he’s stared at his phone, waiting for her contact for days.

So when his phone finally does light up with her name, he answers on the first ring.

“Lyla, hi,” he tries to calm his voice down, an emotion he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in nearly two weeks flooding him.

Hope.

“Oliver, I’m so sorry.”

Of course, it doesn’t last long. It never does.

“They looked for days in the area and the surrounding water.”

No.

“It’s too early to be certain, but from what we could tell there were no signs of life.”

“What about –“ he pauses when his voice cracks. “There would have been an ARGUS ship – did I mention it? It should have – was there any –?”

He can hear a shaky breath through the phone. “No. No, I’m sorry. We looked in the area and the surrounding water but there was no sign of it. Just some debris we think could be –“

Yeah. He’s heard enough.

He doesn’t think. He grabs the plate holding his breakfast and launches it straight into the wall ahead of him. He doesn’t notice his son comes running down the stairs at the sound.

“We’ll keep looking but…” _but our resources are already strained. But it’s probably pointless. But they’re probably gone._ She doesn’t need to say it. “… if there’s anything you need.”

“Right. Thank you for trying.”

He ignores his son’s concerned face and puts his phone down. He crouches to the find the dustpan held under the sink and cleans up the evidence of his juvenile tantrum.

He waited – he _hoped_ for days. He prayed by some miracle they found a way off in time, that just this one time that island wouldn’t bring him more loss.

He wants to cry. And scream. And just, for a minute, stop moving and indulge himself in this.

But he can’t.

He pushes himself up and manages the faintest smile.

“Sorry about that. It slipped out of my hand.” It sounds weak even to him. “Hungry?”

This is life now. He has to accept that.

 

* * *

 

**_ii. July_ **

Oliver throws himself into two things – work and William.

It’s the only thing he knows how to do.

At first, it’s far from simple. He gets lost in the paperwork of proving William is _his_. He’s confronted with dozens of questions where everyone – the mother of this child, half of his core staff, the friends he’s always seen with – has disappeared to. Questions he doesn’t know how to reconcile in his own head, much less to others.

He’s overwhelmed, alone, and in way over his head.

William stops walking on eggshells around him. They buy him a new wardrobe, furniture that makes his room _his,_ and enroll him in school for the fall, attempting desperately to cling to some sort of normalcy.

It doesn’t come easy.

Most nights Oliver is ripped from his own fitful sleep to the sounds of screaming down the hall. He is utterly helpless against William’s racking sobs as he tries to chase away nightmares that won’t cease.

He calls Lyla a lot.

It’s just a few calls here or there, at first. He doesn’t want to bother her but he also has no idea what he’s doing half the time.

After one hysterical 2-am call and William’s 102-degree fever, the barriers break down.

She comes by frequently, sometimes with John Jr, sometimes without. It helps them both. Though William is much older than JJ, he enjoys the company.

One night, when both kids are distracted by an old cartoon movie on TV, Lyla whispers to him while clearing the table.

“Oliver,” she hesitates. “Have you considered counselling?” he follows her line of vision to William, who rubs his own eyes tiredly. Oliver knows he slept close to four hours last night.

The question catches him off guard, which in turn brings about another wave of guilt. Should he have considered it?

Lyla sees his reaction and immediately apologizes. “I didn’t mean to overstep, or offend you. I just thought it –“

“No, you’re right. I should have considered it, it would really help him.” He gives a small shrug. “I can ask him about it tomorrow.”

She nods.

“And maybe –“ she purses her lips, presumably wondering if she should overstep more. “Maybe you could to.”

He tilts his head forward. She’s not the first person to bring this up. “Lyla, it’s not like I can walk into a shrink’s office and tell them about being the Green Arrow.”

She gives a small smile. “I had a feeling you would say that.” She pulls a business card out of her pocket.

“This person works at ARGUS, and helps a lot of agents.” She doesn’t hand it to him, but lays it on the dining table. “Just consider it.”

* * *

 

Opening up doesn’t come easy for William.

Oliver should know.

He asks him one day, over a quiet dinner.

“I just – I know you may have questions about everything that happened and I never really gave you a sign that I was ready to answer them. But I am, whenever you need.”

Will puts his fork down slowly.

“I did have a few questions.”

Oliver nods, maybe a little too fast. “Yeah. Yes. Anything you want to know.”

He’s silent for a minute, pursing his lips slightly as he thinks it over.

Oliver prepares to answer a lot of different questions. Who Chase was. Why Oliver was the Green Arrow. Why he would visit him last year and never mentioned that he was his son.

“Who was Felicity?” is not what he was ready for.

The “What?” is blurted out faster than he wishes.

“It’s just – the last thing he said, Chase said, was about my – my mom. And someone named Felicity. I’m sorry if I –“

“No, no,” Oliver says quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting that.” He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “She is – was – someone… really special to me.”

Will’s eyebrows furrow together, and Oliver knows it’s not enough.

“She was… my best friend. She knew me better than anyone. We were together.” he says finally. “And engaged… for a while. Things… ended badly last year. And Chase knew that. We were just working things out again when – when –“

William nods knowingly. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“No, it’s okay.” Strangely, he finds himself smiling. “I think… you would have liked her. She has – had a way of doing that to people.”

Will nods knowingly, if not just a bit uncomfortably. “She sounded nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Oliver?”

“Can I ask about … being the Green Arrow?”

Oliver almost sighs in relief. Somehow talking about his changing alter egos over the years seems miles easier than opening the wound on his heart.

 

* * *

 

**_iii. August_ **

Oliver hasn’t worn the Green Arrow suit in months, not since he quickly pushed the jacket off during his rescue off the sea.

Since returning, he shoved the suit in a duffle bag and let it sit in the corner of his room, ignoring every impulse and article published on how crime rates were climbing as the resident vigilante and his team have disappeared.

He knows he can’t let it sit there forever.

The impulse hits him without warning, and he knows it’s one of those things that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll put it off for another two weeks. William is at Lyla’s for the evening, he really doesn’t have a better shot.

When he arrives at the lair and turns the lights on, everything inside him seizes for one moment.

He takes slow footsteps around the space, the way it echoes makes him flinch. His finger skates over a thin layer of dust that coats the surface of the table. 

It’s so quiet.

Once upon a time the idea of a team would have never made sense to Oliver. Why open yourself up to that kind of liability, why open up your _heart_ to that kind of companionship when it could all fall apart so quickly?

But somewhere along the way, John and Felicity worked their way in, taking up spots that he didn’t realize were waiting for them. And then their team grew beyond what Oliver had ever expected.

Now it’s so quiet down here. He’s grown too accustomed to the familiar way John would organize the weapons, the way Rene and Dinah would bicker.

Felicity’s tapping on her computers.

 _God_.

He misses them so much.

He didn’t always let himself think about it, but he’s working on it more.

That’s what makes him push up the stairs and grip the side of Felicity’s chair.

It hits him that the first time he’s been well and truly _alone_ since coming back from Lian Yu. Every day has been work, or taking care of William, moments alone are stolen in car rides or late at night.

But now by himself, knowing he has a few hours before he’s needed anywhere.

He wonders what it says about him that he needs to schedule out time for this, and he almost laughs, but it comes out more like a sob.

He sinks into her chair almost immediately, screwing his eyes shut and letting hot tears leak down his face.

He misses them so much, the pain of it burns so hot in his chest it makes him double over, leaning his elbows on his knees. His body shakes and the only thing he can hear is his gasps echoing in the space.

He was so – so _distracted_ when he sent them off. Didn’t even stop to think that this could be it. It wasn’t even an option.

_“We’re going to make it through this.”_

_“You can’t know that for sure.”_

The memory hits him with unexpected force. The way she reached up on her toes to meet his eyes. Blood crusted over the side of her face but still giving him the faintest smile.

She kissed him.

It happened fast, one minute her lips, just a touch rusty from a cut on her lip, pressed against his, the next they were gone.

He wanted to tell her he loved her. It hung off the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t. It wasn’t the right time.

He should have said it. He should have taken that one last leap like she did.

She was always braver than him.

He sits there for hours. Eventually the tears run dry, and he lays his heavy head down on the table that housed Felicity’s computers.

He doesn’t realize it’s past midnight until Lyla calls him, concern flooding her voice as she asked where he was.

He scrubs his face in shame. Yes, it would be so easy to lay here all night, wallow in his own grief. But he can’t do that anymore. He’s not some broody vigilante anymore.

He pushes to his feet. Wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t come back to the lair after that.

* * *

 

**_iv. September_ **

It may take him four months to get there, but Oliver moves on.

No, not in that way.

But he learns to stop lingering on her old possessions in the loft.

(One day he’ll be able to throw them out. But he’s not there just yet).

Though the kid is undoubtedly his lifeline, he doesn’t hold onto William so desperately.

Sleep doesn’t come after working himself to death at the office or the gym.

He cooks meals to eat with his son, not just for him.

He learns to drop Will off at his new school and doesn’t feel like he needs to stay to make sure he’s safe.

He can sit down and watch a baseball game every now and again.

The ice stone that sits on his chest doesn’t melt.

The impulse to pick up his phone and text numbers that won’t respond doesn’t go away.

No, not even close.

But he’s getting there.

* * *

 

  ** _+i. October_**

Oliver will never forget the day he (formally) met Felicity Smoak.

He should have, given the kind of person he was when he got back. But years would have to pass before Oliver would forget his first glimpse of the curly ponytail and brightly painted lips.

The first glimpse of his whole world.

Driving to an ARGUS base, after an extremely vague phone call from Lyla just ten minutes earlier, Oliver can’t help but think about that day.

It’s the weather.

It rained like hell all week until finally today Mother Nature gave some respite, the sun peeking out of the clouds and making the drops on his windshield glisten.

Felicity adored this kind of weather.

A few months ago, Oliver would have forced down the thought. Any memory of her was too painful to entertain for longer than a minute. But he’s getting better.  He can remember the way she’d look up at rainclouds with a bright smile on her face and _not_ want to collapse in himself.

Progress and all that.

When he reaches the base, there’s a flurry of activity he’s not used to seeing. It takes him a minute to even track down Lyla in the crowd of people. The normally put together woman is wide eyed when she greets him.

“Oliver, hi.” She says, looking over his shoulder skittishly. “I’m glad you could come down here.”

“Yeah,” his eyebrows knit together. “You said you needed me? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she gives him a nervous smile. “Everything’s okay. More than okay, actually. I – um – well, see for yourself.”

She gestures behind him and he turns around.

The sight that greets him is like something out of a dream.

John Diggle and Thea Queen, dressed in ARGUS black and tired smiles walk towards him. His brother and sister, _here,_ walking, alive. His eyes waste no time in welling up when Thea launches into his arms.

He tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a choked sob. He tightens his arms like he’s afraid to let go. He thinks he says something, because he can hear her laugh, but nothing is registering.

It takes him a minute before he can let her go and gives John a brief embrace that he only hopes can convey how he feels.

 When he pulls away, Oliver feels a bit more like himself. “How did you guys – when – did anyone else –“ as quickly as the euphoria came, he feels it disappear. “Is – is Felicity --?”

Thea and John glance at each other, their expressions unreadable. Their silence only makes the feeling of dread grow.

Thea opens her mouth to speak, but a sound from behind interrupts.

“Oliver?”

He spins on his heel at the familiar voice.

She stands at the opposite end of the hall. Her glasses are gone, and he can tell by the way she squints just a little that wasn’t her own choice. Her hair looks slightly longer than he knows she’d prefer, brown roots edging down. Like John and Thea, she wears a few cuts on her face, and on the hands she has clasped together.

She’s absolutely beautiful.

His legs walk on their own accord, wasting no time to close the few feet of distance that separates them

His breathing grows ragged as he moves closer, as he can feel his composure start to crack.

“Sorry they had me stay back for a few more tests I –“

He doesn’t wait to hear her finish – though, he relishes in the sound of her voice – instead, he wastes no time in gathering her into his arms.

There’s too much storming in him to fully comprehend – disbelief, shock, joy, confusion and just complete _relief_ mixed together, and he tries to channel each emotion in his actions. The others are talking but he still can’t hear them. All he can focus on is _her,_ her warm skin, the tears of her own as she presses her face into his neck, just her. _Felicity. Felicity. Felicity._ It makes his head spin.

He pulls back almost reluctantly, but he has to look at her again. They’re both crying now, but he’s steadied himself enough to talk.   

“I thought –“ he pulls their foreheads together. “I thought you were – you were gone. They said – “

“I know,” she’s trembling beneath him. “I know, I’m here. I’m here, Oliver.”

He wastes no time pulling her lips up to his, pulling her into a deep kiss he thought about too often in the hundred-some days they were separated.

The bustling movement of agents around them is what make them pull away far quicker than either of them would have liked. He keeps one hand on her neck, feeling the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat.

She’s here. She’s here and she’s alive. Felicity is alive. Felicity is alive and came back to him.

“I love you.” He says, once his breath steadies. “I should have said it then. I regretted it every day you were gone. I love you. I won’t waste another second.”

Her eyes grow misty as she puts her hand in his and squeezes tightly.

“Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of dumb notes:
> 
>   * in the June section Oliver doesn’t call him William.
>   * I may have made my birthday month (August) my fave section of this fic. Just because.
>   * I have so, so many ideas for Oliver/William’s relationship growing that I didn’t fit into the fic. If that’s something that would interest you, let me know and I might get cracking on them
>   * I also may do a companion piece for this showing how these guys survived those months, if the inspiration strikes
> 

> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> twitter - @smoakoverwatch
> 
> tumblr – overwatchandarrow


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